


let lips do (as hands do)

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Role Reversal, Servants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst of it is, finding work for House Tethras, falling into favor with the lady of the house – falling in love with the second son – Cassandra had thought her luck had finally changed.</p><p>It is disappointing, but unsurprising, to see that it has not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let lips do (as hands do)

**Author's Note:**

> i really can't place what kind of universe this is in? regardless, hope you enjoy all the same.

She finds herself in these situations far too often to think it rare. She is a Pentaghast, and so, she has been born with bad luck. The worst of it is, finding work for House Tethras, falling into favor with the lady of the house – falling _in love_ with the second son – Cassandra had thought her luck had finally changed.

It is disappointing, but unsurprising, to see that it has not.

 

* * *

 

He is making excuses. Cassandra supposes as the youngest that he has become quite adept at that. She would not know – she was not given much of a chance to _be_ the youngest child that she certainly was and is. Still – the art is not lost on her. That much she can respect. He is _trying_ , and she sees. Sitting across from her in the garden , her hands in his lap, Varric grasps for something, _anything_ that explains this.

“I don’t _love her_ ,” he tries, for the fifth time. Cassandra feels her heart fracture, just ever so slightly.

As a Pentaghast, she was of course born with bad luck – but she was also born to weather most anything. The death of her parents, of her brother and lover.

Of this, now.

“Not again,” she murmurs. “Varric—” Cassandra pulls her hands away and moves to stand, but Varric grabs her arm. “Stop this, please.”

“I love _you_ ,” he insists.

“I know this. Never did I _doubt_ this, Varric. But I won’t stand in the way of what your family wants from you. That is not my place.”

“It wasn’t your place to love me,” he practically spits. “That wasn’t right, or appropriate—”

“If you are going to be vile,” she says calmly, “then we are already finished.” Varric lets go, but Cassandra remains seated. She smiles. “It is not just about the engagement, Varric. My uncles knows I am here. If he finds me, he will not be kind.”

“We can protect you.”

“You cannot. If you would come _with me_ —”

His face falls, as it always does when she makes this suggestion.

“I understand,” she murmurs.

“I can’t.”

“Then why do you come to me with excuses? I suspect you will ask me to be your mistress next? Some _socially_ acceptable form of female degradation. That will not keep him from killing me.”

“My father—”

“How many times have you told me that you do not wish to _be_ your father? Or your mother? You would keep me as that, then? Embarrass your wife and _shame_ me? You told me when you…when we _kissed_ , that first night, that you wouldn’t let them make you _into_ them. That you would be different. I _believed_ you were different,” she says, voice trembling. “But you are the same as them.”

“She doesn’t love me,” he tries to say, but Cassandra is tired – so _tired_ of the same excuses.

“Yes,” she snaps. “I suspect you will make one another exquisitely miserable.” She stands. “I am leaving your family’s employment in the morning. I understand that you cannot go with me. Truly, I do. What I do not understand is why you think I might want to listen to your excuses another moment.”

“Because you love me, as much as I love you.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “It is rather unfortunate, isn’t it?”

Varric’s face crumples. “So this is it, then?”

“It would appear so.”

He stands. “Alright. I’ll have my mother write you a letter of recommendation. She…adores you.”

“It will be a sad thing to leave her. I am sure she will be happy, though. After the wedding.”

Varric sighs. “Where will you go?”

“There is always work, in the city. Another house, another family. I cannot go back to Nevarra. My uncle and his allies will not allow another Pentaghast on their soil. I suspect he is waiting for me to move again. He won’t invade Kirkwall simply to kill me.”

“I have friends, they could get you work, keep you safe—”

She feels her expression soften. How quick he is to care for her, as he is for most everyone, no matter who they are. It is what she liked most about him, from the start – an _endless_ well of kindness.

“Thank you,” she says. “But I will manage on my own, Varric. I always have.”

He sits on the bench again, and Cassandra feels, not for the first time, pity for him, and men like him – devoted entirely to duty, honor, family – of all kinds. She kneels before him, and takes his face in her hands.

“I loved you. I _do_ love you. But didn’t we both suspect that it would end this way? I am your mother’s servant. I am your family’s help—”

“That doesn’t make you _less_ —”

“I know this,” she says calmly. “And perhaps there will be a time or a place or a world where we are together. Where we can _afford_ to abandon station and tradition, just to be together. But I cannot. You must marry Bianca, and I must keep going.”

“Will you go to her? To the Divine?”

“Perhaps. If there is a person in the world who might be able to keep me safe…”

Varric nods. “Wish it was me.”

“As do I, my love.” He flinches at the sound the words make. Cassandra closes her eyes. She leans forward, capturing his lips in her own. The touch, taste, _sound_ – it is so familiar, so close to being home.

But he cannot go, and she cannot stay.

Not yet. Not now.

Not ever, in truth. But she does not regret this. It is a luxury she cannot afford. Carefully, she stands.

“I hope this is not the last I see of you,” she says, as gently as she can. “Truly.”

“I hope that, too,” he murmurs.

The last thing he does is take her hands in his, turn her palms toward the heavens, and kiss them.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, every part of her his lips touched _burns_ as she walks away from House Tethras, and into the light of a new day.


End file.
